Redemption
by The Silvercat
Summary: Over his lifetime, Remor comes to hate his role in a vermin army and desperately seeks redemption. So when a plan is made to destroy both Redwall and Salamandastron Remor must find a way to warn the woodlanders before it is too late. R&R please
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Reviewers, please do not mention anything about the timeframe. 1 season is 1 year.

I have already written the entire story, and I will post it over five day period starting today. On Friday you will get the next installment.

Rating: violence, disturbing images, whispers of suicide

All characters (c) Kayla Silvercat, the Rewallish Concept (c) Brian Jacques

**Chapter 1**

He could smell the fear on them.

It permeated the very air at the coastal village the army had halted at for supplies. And with every breath he felt more of the thick miasma settle in his stomach until he was close to vomiting. Just one look at the collection of fearful expressions caused him to break out in a cold sweat. He wondered at just how the other soldiers managed to maintain their cool indifference. Or at what scheme lay behind that maniacal smile on Warlord Sardan's face.

The ginger-furred wildcat was nearly jumping with his contained excitement, like a cat freshly crowned at his coming-of-age rather than one in the full prime of his life. His scarlet cloak swished elegantly despite his erratic and restless strides. The shoulder pads and mail complimented the cloak with a delicate clinking tune that was in deadly contrast with the atmosphere.

"Puh-please! Take all the food you want, but leave us in peace! We mean you no harm," a graying red squirrel said, kneeling in front of the pacing lord with his paws held together as if in prayer.

Lord Sardan stopped, gazed at the squirrel, and threw back his head to release laughter sharper than a new sword. "Leave you alone? But what of the attack you instigated? Such an offense cannot go unpunished," the wildcat said. The glint in his eyes told even the youngest that Sardan would've dealt with them anyway.

The squirrel struggled for a sufficient retort when a young mouse stepped from the assembled villagers and said, "If we hadn't attacked you, you would've attacked us anyway. Vermin are scum on this earth, and someone needs to clean your rabble up!"

Sardan's smile vanished at the blatant condescension and he moved forward slowly on the tip of his paws. "So, you think you know the mind of every creature in this army, do you? I suggest staying out of matters you will never understand." Quick as a flash the wildcat backhanded the mouse with such strength he fell to the ground. The mouse spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground and his anger was immediately replaced by fear. Courage failing him, he stepped back into the crowd with a paw to his cheek.

The wildcat watched him with a hard expression then turned to his army and commanded, "Captains Faulk and Byron, I want your two squads to lock up the villagers in the townhouse. Captain Malak"—and here the pine marten jerked his head from the villagers to his Lord, who favored him with a barely noticeable smile—"I want your squad and Skartan's to gather brush for a fire."

Remor Malak saluted with a half-smile and stepped towards the forest. The moment his back was turned the expression fell with the weight of a rock off a cliff, and he clenched his paws in an attempt to control his reaction. He did not like the direction Sardan was taking the villager's "punishment." The hatred he had for himself further intensified as he found himself unable to rally his courage to fight.

He clenched the hilt of his sword for reassurance as he felt with a certain dread that he was only digging his grave with each step he took in those peaceful trees. Remor stopped abruptly when he saw a clump of dried grass growing at the base of a tree, and then scooped it up with great reluctance.

"Wot do yer think the Lord's got in mind for them villagers?" Skartan, an oily black rat with a mind that did not match his nimbleness, said.

Remor halted for a moment and stared at the rat, who only blinked back in honest innocence. It had been stunningly clear when Sardan had appointed Skartan that he hadn't been impressed with his mind as much as his footwork. Remor had to admit it was something to behold. Though it was a trait that had surfaced to a greater extent in every appointment save his own.

Just as Sardan had been impressed with Skartan, he was also awed by the pine marten's sharp intelligence. His appointment created a greater stir in the army than Remor thought possible, when he knew how cowed they were by the malevolent wildcat. He would admit that it shocked him as much as the other creatures were outraged.

It was several seasons back when he could hardly pick up a weapon without fumbling it. His own squad captain had grown exasperated with him, and passed him off as a likely victim in the first few seconds of battle. Despite the captain's thoughts Remor lived time after time, slowly increasing his skill with the sword. It was when that captain met an unfortunate end during a raid that Remor's potential struck Sardan during the contests.

He never so much as fought his opponents as wore them down, when they constantly chased him around the arena, while he side-stepped and ducked wildly erratic blows. As they wore themselves out trying to impress Sardan with complex movements of their weapons, Remor simply stayed out of the way and sought the weaknesses in their form, and then exploited them ruthlessly.

Sardan's sharp green eyes caught this and eventually started calling him to his tent to have discussions concerning strategy. Remor advised him about the Long Patrol's affinity toward short weapons, and had sent spear-bearing soldiers to keep the hares at bay. He helped skillfully maneuver on the shore, through valleys, and across the grassland. He also gave the wildcat the idea of village-hopping to throw the Long Patrol off their tracks.

"My Lord Sardan, you must keep them guessing. If they cannot predict where you will attack then they will have to scatter their forces—a fatal mistake—or collect at Salamandastron," Remor had said with barely concealed smugness.

"The place I never intend to visit," Sardan said. He nodded as he followed the movements of Remor's paw across the map. A grin alighted on Sardan's face and stretched into a knowing leer that froze the pine marten's heart. He did not gain his position through stupidity.

_Or heart,_ Remor thought glumly, looking back on that encounter and ignoring Skartan.

It was a fatal thing to have, a heart. Sardan had been sure his was squashed before he committed his heinous crimes, or it would haunt his mind. As it was haunting Remor. The systematic slaughter in steadily grislier ways had burrowed under the thick skin he had constructed. And with each idea Sardan used that the pine marten had spouted before his appointment the closer the worm got to his heart. Remor hoped that he would be far away from Sardan on the day his heart was exposed.

He sighed as he took the armful of brush and sticks he'd collected and put them in a growing pile. Sardan watched him carefully and then said, "We have enough firestarter, Malak. All we have to do is wait."

Hitching a solemn, but emotionless expression Remor saluted, "Yes, sir." With that, he turned to watch the progress of the army, and fought his greatest not to wince.

A performing troupe would not be impressed with his acting skills, but Remor was just relieved that they were passable by Sardan's standards. They had improved greatly in any case after the third raid when each captain was expected to tear each village leader limb from limb, while creatures looked on in horror. Remor had hid his own horror in an amateur fashion behind a handkerchief, pretending he had a contagious cough. Looking back on that he wasn't so sure how he fooled Sardan if he had at all.

Another hint his indifferent guise was working was the favorable attention Sardan was giving him. It was apparent he held Remor above any other captain. His charges rumored that Sardan would promote him to the position of commander, which had remained vacant for the last five seasons. He understood—if detested—Sardan's favor.

Looking at the townhouse he could see captains carefully placing grass around the outside and sticking it into the shallow nooks and crannies they found. To any outsider looking it would appear that Sardan and Remor had the only status in the army of five hundred. Unless they were in battle the other captains couldn't stand away from the average soldier. They were impervious to teaching. He was one of the few if the only—

"Malak, what are you thinking about?" The voice was raw and gruff from shouting commands and was never meant to be spoken so quietly. Remor turned to meet the eyes of the wildcat.

"The building is well-designed and the wood is smooth. I would suggest throwing cloth on it so the fire will catch," the pine marten said, even as the words twisted his gut and made him want to curl up.

Sardan laughed. "Yes, yes, good eye, captain. But it's already taken care of." He pointed a grieved arm at the roof to show that some soldiers were pouring a thick, syrupy liquid.

Remor's breath caught. Oil. They were pouring vegetable oil, garnered from pantries, all over the roof. He was nearly seized in panic at the deathly pounding of hammers nailing splintered boards across the door and windows.

Suddenly shrill screams erupted from the building as the villagers understood the fate that awaited them. A steady banging could be heard as they desperately slapped their paws against the walls screaming for help. "Help us! Please, somebeast save us! Oh, please! We will do anything, just don't kill us!"

Remor suppressed a shudder of horror as his slightly over bright, brown eyes took in the whole scene. He could do nothing for them. The only choice open to him was to walk away and be done with it.

He began turning when Sardan halted him by the arm. "Would you care to do the honors?" The pressure of the cat's claws digging into his arm told the pine marten he could throw the torch or die too.

Too; that was the keyword. Sacrificing himself would in no way change their fate. He thought perhaps that some other creature in his position would die if only to have a free conscience. But blood had already been spilt on his paws, by sword and ideas. He had no question that if he died for his heart he would still be condemned to Hellgates.

And he was not ready.

It was a ridiculous thought since he doubted the villagers were ready, but when he tried to tip to martyrdom—or as close as he could get—he felt his soul hit a wall seemingly placed there by his mind. Yet he had no reasons to justify it. _Wait…wait, _his mental voice told him.

Turning back to Sardan he nodded and said, "I'll do it." _Without pleasure, but I will._ Sardan grinned and handed him a long stick that already had one end wrapped with an oil soaked rag.

Skartan suddenly appeared by his side with flint and stone, and began striking for a spark. With the fresh oil, it did not even take two before the cloth was engulfed in bright orange flames.

Remor stepped closer.

Even though the windows were barred the screaming soared in volume and seemed to surround the pine marten and echo through the dim corridors of his mind. That stench filled his nostrils once more, and it bore a claw that tore at his heart and lungs, causing his chest to tighten. He hesitated, coughed, and then threw the torch like a spear.

For one moment it seemed to lie on the smooth, wooden roof with only the torch burning, but then all at once it spread with the fluidity of water trying to find its way down a mountainside. Soon ugly, black smoke was curling up from the building. The screams reached another shrieking pitch and amidst the flames of smoke he thought he saw arms reaching through the cracks of the boarded windows, desperately seeking for help. Help that would never come.

Sardan's massive paw clapped his shoulder and he said, "Good, Malak. The Long Patrol has now been deterred further. Our plans can proceed." He turned to all gathered behind and shouted, "Move out!"

All feeling had left Remor as he stared at the burning, shrieking mass. The fur on his face curled at the proximity of the heat as he stood there, unable to move. His chest had hitched and he could barely find breath enough to keep from fainting. He reluctantly wrenched himself out of the shock to stumble away.

While he distantly ordered his troops into ranks, detailing a sextet of sweepers to cover their tracks, the worm of grief and guilt metamorphosed into a monster. A monster with its fangs bared, ready to tear into his heart and mind. Feeling it grow in his chest foretold Remor he would be in for an arduous battle against it. Yet, when he would be in the lowest echelons of the depression, contemplating suicide in his tent with a knife in paw, he would meet resistance.

When he sat on his knees with the knife pointed at his heart, sweating and shaking and trying to drive it in his body, his paws betrayed him. And he heard those words echo in his head. The ones just before the fire; _wait…wait._


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: The next and final update will be on Sunday. Enjoy!

Characters (c) Kayla Silvercat, Redwallish Concept (c) Brian Jacques

**Chapter 2**

It had been eight seasons since the burning had passed and Remor found himself dressed in a red silk tunic with new mail over it, his battle-worn sword strapped to his back, and his red-lined war helmet under his left arm, as he stately carried himself to the planning room. He nodded to the guard on duty before stepping in to see Sardan lecturing two captains on the plans for the next battle.

The three glanced up briefly and Sardan said, "Ah, Malak, thank you for joining us. Lord Blackpaw is camping here, at the end of this valley." Sardan slowly traced his claw along the map—making sure he did not rip it—up to a field just northwest of the castle. "I want to stop them once and for all here, on the Terragen field. We have approximately six hundred more soldiers than Blackpaw does, but his Long Patrol have come out on top in the last three skirmishes. His average foot soldier is far superior to one of mine. And that's where you two come in. You are far more disciplined than my other captains, and you are experts on basic training. Your job is to clean up every soldier's fighting ability in the next three weeks. Start immediately; dismissed!"

The weasel and ferret captains bowed before exiting, leaving the pine marten at the mercy of his Lord. While Remor's aging was apparent from the thinning of his face, gray tints at his temple, and an overall darker pelt, Sardan seemed not to have changed a bit. He grinned at Remor—the same malevolent one that no beast could mistake for friendly—and gestured at the map. "Commander, you have proven beyond a doubt that you are more cunning on the battlefield than even the badger lord of Salamandastron. Please, tell me of any ideas you might have, or predictions of the badger's moves," the wildcat said.

Remor stepped up to the map, recognizing the deceit in the word 'please'—a word Sardan liked to throw around, as though reminding others of his superiority—and looked at the region impassively. Suddenly he said, "The Long Patrol does have superior fighting skills, but if they have any sense then they will call on Redwall to back them up. To rely alone on fighting skills would reveal a fatal overconfidence, especially since we are taking them very seriously."

"I think it would also be wise to hold back two contingents rather than committing them all fully into battle. We should take advantage of our numbers and hold back some—what's the word? Spares, if you will—so that when they're tiring we can release a fresh new wave. That could take care of the rest of the forces," Remor said listlessly, taking no joy in motioning out the plan of death.

Sardan nodded and said, "Yes, very nice. I was also planning on sending a contingent through the forest to take the Long Patrol by surprise."

"A good strategy, m'Lord, but you should be cautious. I wouldn't be surprised if the badger set up archers and soldiers to prevent such an attack," Remor countered, hardly even thinking about what he was saying.

"This is why I was planning on sending you and the renegades through the forest to remove their scouts and attack them in their right flank. I know I can count on you to do as you're ordered." Sardan regarded him with a hard expression that was the closest to affection he could get. It made Remor want to wince.

"Yes, sir, I will do that."

"Good. You're dismissed," Sardan said and, if that wasn't enough of a dismissal, he turned away to his map and stroked his chin in deep thought.

Remor gave a weak half bow before turning on his heel for the door. He nodded at the guard, again, and headed left toward the dining hall, intent on having a drink. When he was out of sight of the room, he slumped slightly and did his best to fight the sadness trying to overwhelm him. _I'm never going to do anything, am I? I might as well just kill myself because I'll never do any good,_ Remor mused. Ever since that voice had told him to wait he had fought against the waves from the ocean that had tried to pull him into the sea and drown him. Despite that voice, it somehow seemed to feel that he could fight his own moral battle and offered no back up support when he sought it during one of his lower periods. Once again, the only intervention it offered was when it kept the knife in his paw from plunging into him with the same mantra: _Wait…wait._

And so he waited. _It's been eight seasons and _nothing_ has happened. How much longer do I have to wait? And what am I waiting for?_ Remor clenched his teeth at the same questions he'd asked himself aloud in his room countless times, and had yet to receive an answer for them. He suspected the specter—the voice, the presence—was taunting him to see how far he could carry himself before he either died or went insane from the strain. Regardless if it wouldn't let him kill himself then he would go insane very soon. Remor suspected that time would be right after the finale of this upcoming war.

_The woodlanders will lose unless they're better strategists. _Remor's eyes suddenly widened and he picked himself up as he entered the mess hall, suddenly alert. _Or I could give them the battle strategies somehow. _Yes…maybe that was what he was intended to do. He could give them the battle strategies!

_Don't be a fool! They'll strike you down the minute they see you, before giving you a chance, and they have every right to. You are the _commander _of Lord Sardan's army—their worst enemy. What makes you think they'll let you speak at all? _Remor heaved a great sigh before sliding into a spot, alone, at a bench.

"Can I get you something, sir?" A young mink—who was restricted to the kitchens with the rest of the cooking staff in war time—offered while wiping the scarred and unpolished table beneath him with a white rag.

"Yes, Falston, get me some Goldenknife wine," the pine marten said while kneading his eyes to clear his head of the headache that was developing.

Falston immediately dropped the rag and came back a few minutes later with a mug and a bottle filled with amber liquid, which appeared golden in the sunlight that shimmered through the windows. Remor gratefully grabbed for the mug. He was relieved to see Falston had the foresight to fill it, and took a long draught from it. He set the mug down with a thump and gasped for air before he took a more controlled sip. Falston studied him.

"Is our future really that bleak?"

Remor blinked at the mink as if he was surprised to see him, but then he laughed and grinned. "No, young Falston, our future is not bleak." _Mine is, but not yours so long as you stay in the kitchens, kit. _That was something Remor so desperately wanted to say to the mink, but knew such an admission was grounds for treason. No one, not even Falston whom he genuinely liked, could be confided in. "No, it's looking more like the badger lord of Salamandastron and his Long Patrol will finally be defeated."

He brightened. "Is that true, sir?" The pine marten didn't respond, but Falston took it as a confirmation and grinned. "You are a wonder, sir." He seemed about to say more, but his eyes widened and he looked around fearfully. There were two creatures quietly having a game of chess, a raucous bunch were in the middle of an equally raucous card game, and then another assistant was cleaning a table on the opposite side of the room, but otherwise they were alone. Remor's eyes flipped back to the mink and he saw him lick his lips before bending over to whisper, "I don't think this army would be anywhere without you. Try to stay safe out there on the battlefield."

"You can't be safe out there," Remor said with an unpleasant laugh. He hoped Falston never decided to pursue a career in the army, because the fame that might come with it was rarely worth the risk.

The mink gave him a weak half smile, and then turned back to cleaning the tables with the determination of one trying to paint a masterpiece. He was clearly shaken by Commander Malak's despairing attitude, and Remor wanted to curse himself for hurting another innocent creature. He pushed that thought away and wished to the voice pursuing him that Falston would find a good life away from the army.

He poured himself another glass of wine.

Remor was just about to quaff the last of it when he heard the main doors crash open. Everybeast in the vicinity jumped, including the card players, and they all turned expectant eyes. Cursing duty, Remor got up to attend to the matter, leaving the unfinished glass and the half-filled bottle of wine on the table for Falston to clear away. After smoothing out the fur on his head and mail, he strode out with a stern air and came across three soldiers wrestling with a struggling bundle.

"What is going on here?" The soldiers nearly let go of their captive when Remor suddenly materialized, walking with his usual commanding air and severe expression.

The soldiers slightly bowed to show their respect, but they were immediately up to keep the creature from trying to take advantage and one, a rat, said, "Sir, we found this woodlander skirting the wall. We think he is a spy for the badger."

He glanced down at the bundle pinned to the floor with this forepaws tied behind his back, who had been glaring at him. But upon seeing his expression the eyes widened, and he did not seem as fearless or courageous as before. Remor saw the mouse and his breath caught.

Something clicked at their eye contact and Remor suddenly understood everything. This mouse is what he'd been waiting for. Not only would he finally do something worthwhile and not destructive, but he could also be his envoy to the woodlanders who would otherwise not give him a chance. The war would turn from Sardan's favor immediately to the woodlanders if he could somehow save him.

_That's easier said than done,_ he thought, but immediately pushed that away. His eyes flicked back up to the rat and he said, "Does he have any weapons?"

The rat and his weasel companion immediately searched on his person—he noted the shudder of revulsion that ran through the mouse—and they pulled three throwing knives and a dirk. Remor took them and strapped them onto his form, giving the pair a look that dared them to question his authority. Finally he said, "Make sure you have a good grip on him, I'll escort you down to the cells."

On the way Remor stopped to knock on a door closest to the cells and got the cell keys from the tired warden, who had been on watch the night before. The ferret, with strange red streaks on the side of his face, peered blearily out into the corridor and, upon seeing the mouse, couldn't contain the nasty grin of glee. "Ooh, I'm goin' to have fun with ye, me pretty, when the Lord allows it," he said and hissed in delight. "G'night, me bootiful, and good day to ye, Commander."

Remor didn't even nod, but he gave the ferret an odd and somehow harsh expression before turning away. He despised the Warden if only for the reason that he was usually the torturer, but his strange habits and ways of talking always caused Remor to give him a wide berth if they met in the halls. Sardan, too, didn't seem to like him, but there was no denying he was…_gifted_ at extracting information.

The wooden door, with only the tiny window up top and a slot to slide food in below, opened with a horrible screech that caused everybeast to wince, and then the soldiers shoved the mouse unceremoniously inside before slamming it. The guards began drifting away, but Remor hesitated, wondering if he should bring up his plan or wait. But when he saw one of the guards turn to see if he was following he decided against it. He'd wait until tonight when he knew everyone would be asleep.

Remor slipped out of his quarters in the dead of night, and cursed when he could barely see in the pitch dark of the halls. He had to take a candle with him much to his disdain, and it would be a beacon to any creature that might be awake. But there was no choice, so he simply steeled himself and quietly slipped down the stone hall.

He was more than relieved he didn't meet anyone on the way there. The pine marten was extra cautious creeping around the Warden's door, but a noise couldn't be heard within its confines. Seconds later he was standing at the cell door.

After a moment of hesitation he finally said, "Psst, mouse! Wake up!" He glanced around hurriedly to see if the guard at the entrance to the jail might've heard anything—he was snoozing quietly when he walked by—and turned back. When those black eyes were suddenly at the grill, glaring daggers at him, he jumped with such force he hit the opposite wall. The mouse had been completely silent.

"What do you want, vermin?"

"I'm Commander Remor Malak, second to Sardan. I'm sure you remember—"

"The one from earlier; well, scum, what do you want from me? I have nothing to tell you or your army, so any deals to make my death quick for information are useless. I'm prepared to die for what's right," the mouse rasped to him, displaying the exact hate Remor knew he would've gotten if he'd attempted to go to the woodlanders.

"Are you?" The speech was by far nothing new and he waved it with a paw and said, "Listen, I understand your hate toward me. I'm fully deserving of it, but I was going to say I want to help you escape from this castle and get you back to your allies."

"Why would you want to help me?" The light he saw from the eyes suddenly disappeared and Remor realized he was going to the back reaches of his cell.

He sighed and then shoved a glass jar through the grill and said, "Here, take this!"

The mouse ripped it from his claws and stared back at him with a very cautious curiosity. "What is this? Poison?"

"It's a cream that our infirmary keepers know how to make. It will deaden the pain of any wounds you receive from torture, and it will help them heal faster."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to help you escape! I have been trying to leave for eight seasons, but the warlord keeps pulling me closer and closer. I also want to provide your friends with information about Sardan's strategy in this coming battle. If you don't help me get this information to them then you will be destroyed, and that is the honest truth."

There was a long silence, but Remor waited patiently—if eagerly and increasingly worried of his discovery—for him to reply. Finally he heard the mouse say, "When can you get me out of here?"

"You'll have to wait three weeks, which is why I gave you the cream. The preparations for battle are being set up, and I'll be needed too much for us to make a clean getaway. When the army leaves I can give them the slip and come over here," Remor said easily enough, even though he wasn't sure if he could even do that.

"What makes you think I'll still be alive?" The mouse sounded incredulous and even Remor wasn't sure if he would be, but he still tried to allay his fears.

"As I said, the Long Patrol and Redwall will be destroyed in this coming battle if they're not prepared. You're a low priority, and you'll be useless when the battle is finally done. If I don't free you you're more likely to spend the rest of your days here."

There was another silence and when it seemed the mouse wouldn't be breaking it he said, "What's your name, mouse?"

"Arden. My name is Arden."

"Very well, Arden. You understand everything I've out-lined for you? Are you willing to help me get this information to your leaders if I get you out of here?" Remor awkwardly pushed his paw through the bar. There was a pause then—much to his relief—the mouse grasped it in as much a pawshake as it could be.

"Yes, I will help you," he said in a choked voice as though it killed him to rely on vermin to help his friends.

"Good. I must go back Good luck," he said and started walking away at a brisk pace. He wondered if his tired mind was spooking him when he thought he heard a faint whisper of "same to you" reach him from down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: The finale. I hope you enjoy.

All characters (c) Kayla Silvercat, the Rewallish Concept (c) Brian Jacques

**Chapter 3**

The last preparations for battle had been made, and the army was keyed to a nearly explosive tension that would vent itself on the battlefield. Sardan snapped at any creature, even Remor, for the slightest interruption and would not tolerate a diversion from the main goal. Though Remor knew from experience that the battle strategy they were going to follow would destroy the woodlanders, he also knew Sardan was not taking any chances.

Regardless, Remor was more than happy to upset Sardan's future victory.

And Sardan wasn't the only one snapping at beasts. Even Falston received the other side of Remor's tongue, as the marten hastily went through his day training the troops as efficiently and expertly as he could, though it was Sardan's crass comments that had him on edge. He couldn't help but feel the wildcat was constantly reading or searching his mind for his imminent betrayal, but since nothing had been said Remor assumed he was doing a good job of hiding his thoughts.

And now it was time.

Everything hinged on the obvious chaos before the battle for Remor to slip away undetected. Among two thousand troops, it wouldn't be easy to spy the one and only commander and Remor was hoping this would throw off Sardan's attention. He still had to be quick, though, because Sardan would be expecting to find him heading the renegades if anywhere, and it would be discovered very quickly that he'd stayed behind.

The pine marten cautiously opened his door and peered down the hall before slipping out and launching into a dead run to get to the cells. Having lived in that castle with the halls bustling or echoing the lively sound of walking, it was eerie running through it then. Aside from the constant thud of his paws there were no other sounds. No creatures talking, no paws scuffing the rugs, or even hidden crickets chirping. It was dead quiet.

At the entrance he darted into the Warden's room and fumbled for the keys hung on the hook. Cursing his clumsiness, he eventually snatched them up then jammed them into the lock at the mouse's door. And as the lock clicked open he said, "Arden, are you ready?"

"Yes," the mouse said in a croaking voice. When Remor yanked the door open he wasn't surprised—but still saddened—to see Arden had received the better part of a lashing on his arms as the mouse crawled over to him on all fours. Aside from that his face was grimy beyond recognition from his time in cell, which made the pine marten breathe, but he still asked.

"Can you walk?"

"Yes, I just need to stretch my legs a little is all. I've been sitting down for so long…" He shakily got to his feet and proudly smiled when he stood up straight.

Unlike other times, Remor did not hesitate to grab the mouse's paw in a powerful grip and yank him out of the cell. "Why are you just standing there? We need to get out of here! I only have a few minutes before Sardan starts searching for me, and he will come back here!"

He was glad when Arden didn't protest him as they dashed down the hall and through the castle. The terrible silence, however, was tightening Remor's nerves and he was sure he'd explode into a sprint of panic if he heard anything that was not the soft padding of their paws. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the opening to the entrance hall, only to have it cut short by the muffled sound of voices speaking on the other side of the door.

Remor immediately cast around for an alternative route and suddenly veered down the hall toward the back end of the mess hall to the kitchen. He knew of a backdoor that was meant to be there in case of an emergency. _This is as much an emergency as anything, _he reasoned, though he pushed the thought aside.

"Oh, oh, they're right outside. Are you sure we can get out of here?" He heard Arden whisper.

Despite his fear of making any noise he still hissed back ferociously, "Shut up! Don't speak until I tell you to!"

He could hear creatures within the entrance hall now and his blood ran cold when he heard Sardan's deep rumble say, "Go to Malak's room first. He might've drifted off, though that will not excuse his absence or this delay."

"Yes, sir!"

"If you don't find him there search the entire—"

Remor didn't hear the rest as he dashed through the kitchen and slammed through the heavy door into streaming, summer daylight. This time he looked around before breathing, but he didn't stop to enjoy the sight of the lush grass or smell the sweet, warm air or absorb the bright yellow light cascading down on him, instead he sprinted toward one of the side gates and was outside of the castle walls in seconds. They barreled through the foliage for several minutes before Remor led the mouse behind a tree, and they halted briefly to catch their breath.

"We cannot stop from here on or we'll get caught by somebeast. Can you keep up?"

"I'm a spy, I'm not meant for running," Arden said through several gasps, but then he straightened up and stared at the pine marten with a hint of a smile. "If there is enough fear, or enough motivation then I could outrun a badger."

"Good because Redwall and Salamandastron's survival depends on your own! So here." Remor pulled out a pouch with the throwing knives, and Arden's wrapped dirk. "I'm probably going to be a little behind to deter the renegades and hopefully give you a clean getaway to your side, but take that just in case. And as soon as you get to your forces tell them they need to strengthen their right flank and look out for Sardan to hold back several hundred beasts as spares to squash you later."

Arden's eyes grew bigger with every sentence until he was gaping fearfully at Remor. Still panting slightly Remor said, "If you don't believe me then don't, but I am the commander of Sarden's army, and I am the one who came up with that strategy. It _will_ be the one he will use. Now go!" He grabbed Arden and shoved him forward, and then the mouse picked up his feet and began gaining speed.

He started off after him shoving his way violently through branches as he strained to see ahead, praying at every second that they wouldn't meet anybody from Sardan's forces. For some time he ran always expecting to see some creature from the army pop up in front of him, yet nothing happened. Remor began losing speed as the fear of discovery slowly drained from him, but just as he was slowing to a walk he heard an alarmed cry up ahead of him. His adrenaline rushed again and he sprinted so fast he could not distinguish individual leaves around him before they were past.

The pine marten glimpsed Arden through the tangles fiercely battling some creatures that had somehow surrounded him. Baring his teeth and furrowing his brow into a ferocious growl, Remor grabbed his sword and leapt into the clearing swinging violently. He took off the forearm of a ferret who was unfortunate enough to have tried to stab Arden in the ribs. He screeched shrilly and immediately stumbled back to nurse the bloody stump of what was left. Another pine marten and a stoat stepped back, momentarily stunned to see their commander so violently attack any creature.

Remor took the time granted to shove Arden forward once more, "Go! Run! Get to your encampment!"

"B-but I can't leave you behind," Arden said as he stared around at the two vermin now with their attention on their commander. "I must fight!"

"I said run! Remember, your friends' survival depends on whether or not you live through this. Now go," Remor roared while still keeping his eyes focused on the two who were trying to walk around and engage him on two sides. Suddenly the stoat faltered and staggered forward as he put a paw to his chest; one of Arden's throwing knives had buried itself into his heart. His nerveless paw dropped his sword and he fell forward never to get up again.

Remor heard Arden crash into the brush again, but the other pine marten had taken a swing with his own sword in hopes of besting him when he thought his attention was divided. He parried the blow, and stepped forward to deliver several attacks that the creature blocked easily.

He grinned nastily, "Well, well, Commander Malak. I'm surprised you'd harbor such a rebellious attitude. Well, guess who will be the Commander now?"

While the marten gloated, though, Remor stepped forward and delivered one blow to his arm that held the sword, forcing him to drop his weapon and then Remor took his head off with one clean stroke. "Certainly not you," he answered, staring angrily at the wide, vacant eyes.

He was brought back to the present when he heard shouts sounding up and the distant crashing of foliage as creatures barreled in to see what the commotion was. He sheathed his sword and turned to dash off the way he remembered Arden going and silently hoped the mouse had made it to his army in one piece.

Remor glanced back to see the progress of the renegades. He jumped when he saw the trees around him disappear and when he glanced forward he came to a sliding halt; he was standing in the middle of the battlefield. On opposite ends both lords stood facing each other seemingly lined up perfectly, but even from his middle ground Remor could tell which warlord had the advantage. Abruptly he turned and started dashing for the woodlander's side, and his heart leapt when he saw Arden's small form running for the frontlines. Remor allowed himself a smile at this and immediately thought,_ That's it. I'm free!_

"Lord Blackpaw, there are vermin still on Arden's tail!"

The badger lord watched through narrowed eyes at the form, and then he could see the details as the creature came closer. It was a pine marten, of that there was no doubt. And, somehow, he was smiling. "Aim and fire accordingly. We cannot have Arden harassed, and one less vermin to count in that wildcat's forces is always helpful."

"Yes, sir," the red squirrel said with the smile of one playing with a child, and then he brought his bow up and notched his arrow. Squinting one eye, he aimed and fired.

The whole of Sardan's frontline was staring in stiff surprise when they saw their longtime commander Remor Malak dart out of the forest and toward the woodlanders' side. One of Sardan's more experienced bowbeasts suddenly shook himself and peered up at the wildcat to see his reaction. The cat seemed to have fallen into shock and could only stare.

The ferret interrupted gently. "Sir, I can slay him from this distance with my longbow, but you have to give me the order now or I'll lose him. Sir?"

Sardan stirred. "Shoot him."

"As you wish, sir," the ferret muttered before pulling back his sideways bow and taking aim. When he thought Remor was targeted he let the string twang and the arrow flew.

Remor was still running joyfully when the first arrow from the woodlander's side took him in the right thigh. He stumbled in surprise, but then continued forward, knowing full well they had shot him from an enemy's standpoint and could not know his new stance. Suddenly pain flared up in his left shoulder when he felt another arrow lodge itself there.

_From behind…Sardan! _Remor turned dazedly to gaze back at his old allies through hazy vision then turned back to reaching his original goal, but when he tried to get up he found the strength draining with the blood that leaked steadily out of both wounds. So he crawled forward.

Steadily, one paw over the other, he continued following Arden's tracks. But his breath was growing shallower, and the strength in his arms was slowly leaving him in his vain effort to continue forward; unbidden tears began leaking from his eyes as he tried to move.

Finally, he set down his right arm and it twisted underneath him so that he fell heavily and awkwardly on top of it. Remor screamed an animal's cry of pain when the arrow in his thigh burrowed in deeper and when the full impact of the two arrows hit him: both sides had hated him equally.

The woodlanders did not bother giving him the benefit of the doubt before they knew why he was pursuing Arden. The vermin had always hated him; they jeered and goaded all through his captainhood and those calls only subsided when he gained his position as commander. But he had known long before then that his position at his warlord's side was only temporary because Sardan didn't trust anybeast for long. He would've replaced him in due time. Remor had made no impact on him.

Carefully he wrenched his right arm out from beneath him and stretched it out toward the woodlanders' side. Once again their faces were blurred by the film of tears that flowed out of his eyes and he gave a hitched sob when he realized they would not be coming to rescue him. Slowly, slowly he felt himself fade away. The fingers of his right paw fell limp and soon the tears and light from his eyes had gone away from his limp form. Remor Malak lay in the middle of the battlefield shot down by prejudice and hate.

Arden had not known the arrow was fired and was grinning when he was greeted by loud whoops and hollers from all the creatures around him. He slapped his friends' paws on his way to the badger lord then saluted him and said, "Arden reporting, sir. I have strategic information regarding this battle. You'll want to strengthen the right flank because there is vermin hiding in the forest, and Sardan is expected to hold back several hundred soldiers, so that he can overwhelm you later in the battle. Remor Malak can explain it to you better than I though."

"Who?" The badger lord said, looking down at the mouse in confusion.

"Remor Malak. He's a pine marten, sir, and the former commander to Sardan. He should be coming up soon," the mouse said, still grinning gleefully up at the badger. The smile tapered though when he heard a hush fall over those present and the badger's serious gaze changed to one of somber guilt.

"Sir?"

"Behind you, Arden."

The mouse turned and immediately lost his breath at the sight before him. Remor was trying to pitifully crawl the rest of the way, though the mouse could see an arrow sticking out of the back of his shoulder. And—and one arrow sticking out of his front thigh, no doubt fired from the woodlander's side. He stood, speechless, as the pine marten suddenly fell and wailed in such deep anguish that Arden winced and stepped back as if he'd been slapped. Though he was still several hundred yards away, Remor had brought his paw up trying to reach for him. Subconsciously Arden began stepping forward, reaching out with his own right paw only to have the badger's great one land on his shoulder and hold him back.

Even from his distance, he could see the light fade from Remor's eyes and his living form relax in death.

Arden could only stare. Then he turned on the badger lord and shouted, "Why did you shoot him? Why! He helped me escape from the castle and told me Sardan's plans so that if I reached you first I could tell you right away! He was trustworthy!"

"Was he?" Lord Blackpaw watched him with gentle but still guilt stricken eyes before saying, "Vermin always have a price for any deed, no matter how good, and we thought he was chasing you."

"You didn't even give him a chance! How could you kill him?" And here Arden was staring around at all of them with an expression split between grief and white rage.

"Because he was vermin."

Arden froze there. He knew that would be the only real reason that he would get from anybeast. Staring around, he saw a few could not meet his eyes when they no doubt saw Remor's body on the otherwise untouched ground. Some stared resolutely at him, so entrenched in their beliefs that all vermin were evil that they felt no remorse for the pine marten, who had gambled and sacrificed everything for their livelihood.

And still, Arden knew that these creatures were only reflections of what he'd been. He had mistrusted Remor and still had expected the marten to lead him to his death up until he got his weapons back. And then he knew the truth behind Remor's words and actions.

While all the other creatures geared up for war, Arden stood facing Remor. He put a paw to his heart, and bowed his head. It was the only respects and the only moment of silence the pine marten ever received, even after the woodlanders indifferently buried him with Sardan's corpse. Arden silently gave him his respect and prayed to Martin, the guardian of Redwall, that Remor had gained at least a sliver of redemption.


End file.
